


fire / ashes

by borzbois



Series: we're gonna make it this time, darling [1]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, Borderline Personality Disorder, Canon Compliant, Catra (She-Ra) Redemption, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Pining, Queer Themes, Recovery, but we're reading in between the lines here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25593889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borzbois/pseuds/borzbois
Summary: and you can aim for my heart, go for blood / but you would still miss me in your bonesIt was always, always Adora.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Series: we're gonna make it this time, darling [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855054
Comments: 3
Kudos: 58





	fire / ashes

_"Why was I never good enough for you?"_

She has always let Shadow Weaver's words sink in too deeply beneath her skin, crawl beneath her and fuel the fire in her veins. 

It's not as though Shadow Weaver has ever been different—no, Catra has always known what to expect from her. Rigid expectations, high standards and a ruthless drive to achieve them. But some days, if she did well, if she kept out of trouble, she remembers how Shadow Weaver would praise her as a child. It was few and far between, but she remembers the first time it ever happened. 

It had been her first training exercise. She wasn't older than six or seven, maybe. It had hurt so much, but it was the first real test to see what kind of training groups they'd be placed in, based on natural skill, adaptation and compatibility. But she had done well, using her natural agility to fumble out of the clumsier students, trip them up and confuse them. 

Shadow Weaver had reached out and ran her fingers through Catra's hair, eliciting an automatic purr that rumbled from deep within Catra's chest. She had praised Catra—not in the way she praises Adora, no, nothing close to that, but it was enough. It was enough to fill that little void inside of her for a time, because what child doesn't love praise? What child doesn't want to be loved? 

She doesn't remember it happening a second time. 

_"You remind me of myself. Nothing was ever easy for me either, you know. I had to fight for everything I had—my power, my magic. Why would it be any different for you?"_

If there's something Catra's certainly done enough of in her life, it's fighting. 

Catra has never done emotions well. Catra has never known how to properly deal with them, choosing instead to cope by kicking a few cadets around on the training field. 

She hates that it feels so vulnerable. It's her greatest strength but also her greatest weakness—her unpredictability, her focused drive, her feral rage in the heat of a battle. It makes her miss things, do things she doesn't want. She hates how out of control she feels, even in her own body. 

Some nights she stares at her own shaking hands, wondering why she feels so weak. 

" _I was just a child! What could I possibly have done to deserve the way you treated me?_ "

When she saw that after everything she went through—exiled to the fucking Crimson Wastes, sent on a suicide mission she was never supposed to come back from, and then survived it all—that Shadow Weaver had still chosen Adora over her. 

It was always, always Adora. 

" _After everything I've done for you, it's still her you want?"_

Ever since they were kids, it has always been Adora. How Adora was smarter than her, stronger than her, behaved better than her. Adora has always been the gifted, golden child, and Catra should be so _lucky_ to have been graced with her guidance. 

Adora was always the one who understood her. Adora could find every single one of her hiding places across the Fright Zone, always knew what to say to coax her out of her safe little comfort zone. Adora's arms used to hold her through the nightmares and pull her out of a tight spot. Adora used to cuddle with her on cold nights when the heating failed in the dorms, the two of them curled up underneath their thin regulation blanket. Adora's goofy little smile was like a spot of sunshine in a thunderstorm, and now all she gets are glowers. 

Adora doesn't smile at her, not anymore. 

It hurt more than she wanted it to. More than she expected it to. 

She hates that it hurts. She hates that it makes her heart ache. She hates that she's not sure who she's more jealous of. 

Adora doesn't understand why she chose to stay in the Fright Zone, but Adora's never had to fight the same way she has. Adora has had everything handed to her on a goddamn silver platter, in the shape of that infuriating sword and stupid little crown. Adora's sense of purpose has always been fueled by some fucked up sense of heroism, that if _she_ doesn't do it then _no one_ will. 

Adora has never cared about herself, but... 

But Catra does. 

Somehow, _that_ alone is worse than anything. Catra cares _so fucking much—_ she would do anything for Adora, if only Adora would pick her. 

But she didn't.

_"People have hurt you, haven't they? They didn't believe in you. They didn't trust you. Didn't need you. Left you."_

Adora picked her new _Princess_ friends over her. Adora picked _She-Ra_ over her. Adora tossed her aside just like everyone else in her life has—and now? Now everyone else was leaving her, too. 

Entrapta. Shadow Weaver. Scorpia. 

It never ends, does it?

And it's all Adora's fault. 

_"But did you ever stop to think? Maybe, they're not the problem?"_

If it wasn't for Adora, she would be powerful. If it wasn't for Adora, she would have an empire. If it wasn't for Adora, she wouldn't be so fucking _weak._

She has nothing now. No empire, no mission, and no plan. She's stuck on Horde Prime's ship, a prisoner in shackles dressed up as freedom and—well, hasn't it been that way all along? 

Ever since Catra can remember, feelings have hurt. She feels too much, too hard—it's why she hides. She knows that poison drips from her teeth, that her tongue is as sharp as any blade and it doesn't take much to make her defensive. She's hurt more people than she can count, and those are just the ones she didn't mean to. She has always been pulled down by her emotions, chained to the basement floor as she watched everyone else around her grow up. 

But how can she deal with this ache? How can she smile through the hurt when it's all she's ever felt? How can she try to be a good person when the only person who made her feel _good_ and _right_ and _whole_ left her? 

_"It's you. You drive them away, Wildcat."_

Catra's lost everything. 

She feels the pain inside of her balloon and implode, flooding her with hurt and anger. She lets herself cry, tears running down her face and dripping down onto the cold metal. Her face burns with shame and embarrassment, claws threatening to dig so deep into her palms that she bleeds, but she stops herself. 

She's been numb for so long, letting the pain drag her around by her ankles, barely holding on. On autopilot. She hasn't been the same since that day in the Whispering Woods, when they found the sword, when everything changed. 

When Adora changed. 

But...Adora didn't really change, did she? This has always been Adora—sweet, gullible Adora. She didn't know any better, and maybe part of Catra didn't tell her because she was afraid of what would happen. Even that first battle, when she was supposed to bring Adora back... Why was she so obsessed with proving Adora wrong? Proving that she was the stronger one? 

" _I didn't_ ** _make_** _you do anything, Catra. You made your choice."_

She wonders what would have happened if she had just decided to defect that day. How differently everything would have turned out. Who would she be, if she had just made a different choice that day? If she had taken Adora's hand and run to the Rebellion with her? 

Staring out into space, curled up somewhere in a dark corner of the ship, the stars twinkle incessantly out in the distance. They're mesmerizing, forming shapes and connections and colliding in the most beautiful colors she's ever seen. It's so strange, she thinks, how space can be so full but seem totally empty at the same time. 

All she can think about is how much she wants Adora. She wants the way Adora used to run her hands through her hair, the way Adora would murmur sweetly in her ear, the way Adora would _look_ at her and _see_ her. 

Adora's the only one who's ever really known her, really. 

Maybe Adora did know best. Maybe Adora chose right, and she didn't. 

She looks down at her hands, deep grooves pressed into them from clenching her fists. But there is no blood, despite the rivers of crimson that run from her wrists in flashes, here one moment then gone the next. Scars litter her skin, some raised and pink, some older, faded so deep into her skin she has to push her fur back to see them. 

Scars fade, if you give them enough time. 

Catra takes a deep breath in. 

And out. 

So, she's lost everything. But maybe that just means it's time to try something new. 

" _You try so hard to play the big, bad villain, but your heart's never been in it,_ ** _has it_**?"

**Author's Note:**

> the first in my catra redemption arc character study series. they are all able to be read stand-alone, but are connected. hope you guys enjoyed (cried?)


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